Transition
by The Divine Comedian
Summary: Usually the kids stick together. For one of them to tell on the other, it has to be something really trivial - or really, really terrible. Kanan and Sabine talk. Takes place during S03E1 Steps Into Shadow, spoilers up until then.


**Transition**

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 **Summary** : Usually the kids stick together. For one of them to tell on the other, it has to be something really trivial - or really, really terrible. Kanan and Sabine talk. Takes place during S03E1, Steps Into Shadow, spoilers up until then.

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When the desert sun sets over Chopper Base, it gets cold quickly. Kanan still feels the day on his skin; it radiates the late afternoon's hot glow even in the cooler breeze of this planet's blue hour.

That, too, fades eventually. The transition of time, which he's never experienced as acutely as these days, is often a great starting point for his meditation; the here and now is more clear-cut the quicker it threatens to change. These fleeting moments offer small fragments of a greater, lasting peace, and he's still collecting the bits, fitting them together. He suspects he'll be doing that for some time to come.

Today is not one of those days, though.

Today has been a day of worry. It always is when the team is away on mission, but they've been back since the early afternoon, an unfortunately free Hondo Ohnaka in tow, and it hasn't abated. On the contrary, a prickling unease has had Kanan on edge ever since he talked to Hera on the comm.

It's not the usual sensitivities. It as if the glue that keeps the team together is crumbling away, and in its place it leaves tension, hurt pride, and possibly something else. Fear?

Like any other family Kanan has ever met - which notably does not include his own - his family of choice can be dysfunctional. Putting five damaged individuals on the same ship, each of whom has lost their own private version of everything, probably had something to do with it (and never mind the mental droid who was probably constructed with a sadistic streak hardwired into his control circuits). But they were usually good, better than good, occasional tough love notwithstanding. Today is different.

Times like this, five years ago, he would probably have gotten drunk, accepted that a particular stint has run its course, and then left the planet in a smelly, crowded passenger skiff with a roaring hangover and a black eye or two. These days, he usually meditates, searches his feelings, and addresses the problem like a grown-up would. Like a Jedi would. Like a grown-up Jedi space dad would.

Hera's words, not his.

Given these choices, it's no wonder he's rather spent the evening in lightsaber practice, hacking away at rocks Chopper throws at him in rapid succession. Rocks are harder to deflect than blaster shots because of their inertia; hit them at the wrong angle and you still get showered with high velocity debris. He deflects them all, tribute to his ability to immerse himself in anything if there's a big enough problem to avoid. He even gets the two that Chopper, that metal psychopath, catapults at him after he's called for a break.

Only then, when he's tired to his bones, when his arms and shoulders feel as if they are about to fall off with fatigue and pain, is his mind finally at rest. He settles, hands on his knees, on the sand that rapidly loses heat. Transition. He exhales.

Before he even has the chance to reach out and lose himself in the Force, he hears light footsteps headed towards him. Not Hera's, they've talked already and she's a busy woman. Not Zeb's, because the Lasat has only two modi: great leaping strides or silent killer approach, and these are neither. Not Ezra's, because he's been avoiding Kanan with all the subtlety of a Bantha in a caf bar. So this must be -

"Sabine," he says with a nod.

If this display of mysterious Jedi knowledge has impressed her, she doesn't show it. "Nice work with the rocks, Kanan," she says. "Did they insult your Mom or - ?"

"They had it coming." He can only imagine how the scene may look. Scattered debris on the sloping plane, the smell of dust and ozone still in the air. In the middle, a blind and slightly sweaty Jedi trying become one with the Force.

Kanan hasn't yet found much humour in his new situation, and neither has anyone else (though, credit where credit is due, Chopper at least has tried). But he'll be damned if he isn't going to milk what little there is for what it's worth. Dysfunctional, remember? He turns his head towards where her voice had come from, to the left and up. His mouth forms into a comical "O", and he gasps, "Sabine! Oh my god, your hair! You dyed it!"

Chances are she doesn't buy it for one second, but the short pause before she replies could mean anything. He'll take it.

"Who told you that?" Sabine sounds more sceptical and less amazed than he'd hoped.

He makes a hand-wavey gesture. "The Force, of course," he says. "Ancient mystical knowledge of the Jedi."

"Doesn't the Force have better things to do?" Still skeptical, but with an undertone of - could it be doubt? Is he actually succeeding in pulling Sabine's leg?

"The Force doesn't _do_ anything," he says. "The Force just is."

"I see." Silence. "Soo. What does the Force think about it?"

Old masters, grant him patience. "The Force doesn't _think_ about anything, Sabine," he says. "The Force just is."

Sabine makes a sort of frustrated noise. Maybe it's time to home in on the punchline.

"Wait, incoming message," says Kanan. "The Force tells me to tell you it preferred the blue and green. Though it wants you to know that a pretty girl like you could pull off anything. And anyway, you can just wear your helmet for a while."

"So Hera told you," says Sabine. "That's literally her exact words." She sounds disappointed, though. But if she has been angling for a compliment from a blind man - well, today is not the day.

"Hera told me," says Kanan. "I think by now we've spent at least a cumulative day discussing your hairstyles. You know. Deciding whether we can let you kids go out like that. That sort of thing."

"Really. So what was the verdict on Ezra, did he get a timeout?"

Kanan makes a mental note to subtly find out what in the galaxy Ezra has apparently done to his hair, then says, "Well, we did let him out of his room eventually, didn't we."

"Yeah," says Sabine. "About that. Him."

"You're worried about Ezra," states Kanan.

It's a guess, of course, and not usually an obvious one. Only today is different. Usually the kids stick together. Stealing a TIE fighter, painting a stolen TIE fighter, hanging off a cliff over boiling lava, and not a word of that reaches the grown-ups. For one of them to tell on the other, it has to be something really trivial - or really, really terrible.

"He's changed," says Sabine, and then, as if that needed explanation, "he's a different sort of person than he used to be."

"We all change," says Kanan. "It means he's growing up."

"I know, I know," says Sabine. "But I sort of envisioned him to grow up more like, you know. You."

God, Kanan hopes not. "He's his own person, though," he says, with a bit more of that deliberate Jedi obtuseness that used to frustrate generations of Padawans until they learned how to clarify a problem.

Naturally, Sabine takes the bait. "You really are in an ineffable Jedi mood today, are you?"

He shrugs. "Not going to apologise for that."

"Well, you're the one teaching him. So he should be a bit like you. When it comes to Jedi things, at least."

He lets the silence sit for a bit. If she's ready, she'll tell him, if not, well -

A sigh from Sabine, and with that, she clears away the debris from a small patch of ground and sits down next to him, in grudging acceptance that this might be a longer conversation.

"Today, Ezra did a thing," she says. "I don't agree with the thing. But it helped us escape, so on the whole I have strongly mixed feelings on the thing."

Kanan doesn't say, "Tell me more." He says, "I understand." It's not much of an invitation to go on talking, so she can still walk away now. She doesn't, so he waits for her to continue. It takes a while.

"He used your mind control trick," she says eventually. "But not like you would have. You would have told the bucketheads to... unload a crate somewhere else, I don't know, I just remembered that one time you made them go have a beer in the canteen while we took off with their cargo. Ezra - he made them kill each other. That one Walker, it just walked off a cliff. I've never seen you do anything like it." She sounds scared now, something that's not usually in Sabine's emotional repertoire. "So I asked him when you taught him that. He said you didn't."

"And you're worried he's getting his lessons elsewhere?" Not a good follow-up, Kanan berates himself - because well, no, stupid, that's what _he_ is worried about.

Sure enough, Sabine says, "I don't care where he's picked it up, just what he's picked up. It just sounded odd, the way he said it."

Jedi Masters of old would probably have gone on to probe her on what she meant by "odd", but he has a pretty good idea.

"So what do you think?" says Sabine.

He lifts a hand, indicating that he needs a moment to muddle this through. He's certainly felt it in the crew, the rising distrust, and yes, fear. There's been plenty of that, but he'd never thought they'd be scared of each other. They've grown together for years. Are they now growing apart? Is that it?

"Why does it bother you so much?" he asks.

He can feel her indignation bubbling up through the Force before she even draws breath to speak. "Are you saying it shouldn't?"

"No," he says. "I am asking you to look into yourself and examine why it does. Even on a bad day, you carry two blasters and at least six thermal detonators. You've killed before, and you will kill again. Tell me why this is different." He tries not to sound like an accuser or smart-arse. He's not sure if he succeeds.

"Because it's only fair," says Sabine. "They've tried to blow us out of the sky more times than I can count, and I'm more than okay with fighting back. But the bucketheads are easy. They can shoot at us, they can't take over our minds and make us walk off a cliff or _shoot our friends in the back_."

"Vader can," Kanan points out. "Isn't he the ultimative buckethead?"

"That's not what I meant," says Sabine. She sounds shocked at the direction the conversation has taken. "I don't - I didn't mean Ezra is like Vader -"

"No-one is like Vader," says Kanan lightly. "But we both know that they don't need a Sith to make you do exactly what they want."

The silence tells him that Sabine understands exactly what he's referring to. "Not always," she says. "You didn't give us away over Mustafar."

"I count myself lucky I didn't know too much at the time."

"You knew some things," says Sabine.

"It was only a matter of time," he says gently. "It was good you guys got there when you did."

He exhales, tucks away the memories of Mustafar. Nothing more enlightening can come from those days. "See how it works?" he adds. "What Ezra did to them is only what they will do to you, if they get the chance. They will make you betray yourself, your friends, everything you stand for."

"It doesn't matter what they will do," she says.

Kanan shrugs. They're getting there. "Does a bit," he says, "don't you think?"

"Not like that," she insists. "It shouldn't matter to us what _they_ will do. We still have a choice to do better." Her breath catches a little in her throat; but that might just be the cold. "At the academy, we were always made to compete against each other. You couldn't get ahead without stabbing your friends in the back. Forget getting ahead, you couldn't even keep out of detention. I don't want to live like that ever again, and I wouldn't do it to others even if I could."

"Why not?"

"Because it's _wrong_ , you dense Jedi nerf herder," says Sabine, almost shouting. "It's wrong, and _Ezra shouldn't be doing it_."

He waits, lets her ponder that last outburst. It takes a moment, then she starts laughing. "You were going for that, weren't you?"

Kanan shrugs. "There's a reason we consider ourselves to be on the good side. Because we try and make better choices. Remember that."

"Yes, o wise Jedi Master Jarrus," says Sabine. "And Ezra -"

"Ezra did what he did today to protect you all."

"But it was wrong," says Sabine. "Come on, Kanan, you all but said it yourself. It was wrong."

He knows she's waiting for him to confirm or deny what he truly thinks of Ezra's actions today - but damn it, when push comes to shove, he can't tell on the kids either. At least not to each other. He's the grown-up, he should handle this.

"Sabine," he says. "You kids need to be able to trust in each other or this whole thing will fall apart. Do you trust him to look out for you?"

"Yes, I do," says Sabine. "I trust him with my life. But -"

"Then let Hera and me handle this."

Clearly, that is the wrong thing to say, because her good mood flips again. "You're not handling it!" she says. "If you were, we wouldn't even be having this conversation! You're not even talking to him! I know he hasn't exactly been seeking you out, but come on!"

"You've only been back six hours," he says. "And, as you mentioned, he has developed an almost supernatural knack for, you know, avoiding the blind guy."

He feels her frustration growing, a bright angry presence against the backdrop of an otherwise calm Atollon night.

"It's not just today and you know it," says Sabine. "Today is really just the first time _I_ could put into words what bothers me. Something's been off since Malachor, with him _and_ with you. What exactly happened there?"

"Whatever happened there," says Kanan, "it wasn't Ezra's fault."

"Yeah, you said that. But he seems to think -"

"Well, he would," says Kanan. "He trusted the wrong person. I knew it was the wrong person, and I let him go through with it."

"Good grief," says Sabine. "Why?"

"Because that's who he is. Who he needs to be. He trusts everyone, I trust no-one, we try and meet in the middle and that usually works out. But how can I expect him to grow up and rely on his judgement if I override his decisions whenever I don't like them?"

It's a compelling argument, he thinks, even if he made it up long after the fact. The truth is that he had wanted to turn Malachor into a teaching opportunity, demonstrate to Ezra exactly what could happen if he didn't start thinking his decisions through. Somehow he, Kanan, must still have expected he would be able to wing it when the consequences came.

Yeah, good job. He sure showed Ezra.

Another shift in mood, angry to desperate to thoughtful. "You think whoever taught Vader felt the same way at the time?" asks Sabine.

He hasn't expected that. "You keep coming back to Vader," he says.

"And I know I shouldn't," she says. "Ezra just wants to protect those he loves. Somehow, I don't see that driving Vader."

Kanan at least gives the thought a try, but gives up. "Nah, me neither."

But then, what is it? Having never felt the lure of absolute power himself, Kanan is at a loss as to what motivates the ultimative hunger for control that has Palpatine and Vader in its destructive grip. Where did that come from? He wills himself to imagine Vader's life before he turned Sith. He can't, it must have been different from all he knows. He tries to picture Vader as a child, and fails.

Clearly, Sabine's thoughts are on a similar path. "But someone must have gone wrong somewhere," she says. "Teaching Vader. He wasn't born with that helmet on."

Now that's definitely not the way Kanan has wanted this discussion to go. "Are you saying that -"

"I don't know the first thing about Jedi training," says Sabine. "I'm just asking you to take this seriously. To talk to Ezra."

"I am, Sabine" he says. "I will."

"Thank you," she says.

Another pause with only the sound of distant alien cicadas. It's completely calm now over the desert, but his hearing, more sensitive lately, can make out soft voices and even music from inside the base.

"Oh," says Sabine. "Ooh." He can only guess what tipped her off. Maybe it's the debris left over from earlier that's been poking him, and presumably her, but apparently, something finally clicks with Sabine.

"You already knew," she said. "When I came down here. You already knew what Ezra did today."

"Now you're just guessing," says Kanan.

"Good guess though, isn't it?" says Sabine. "That's what you took out on those poor rocks. You _are_ worried."

He is, of course he is. But the objective of this conversation was to assuage _Sabine_ 's worries. Great job.

"Hera called me from the _Ghost_ to tell me you kids are safe. She mentioned how it went," says Kanan. "And lightsaber training is very important," he adds.

This time, he can almost feel the glare Sabine is directing at him. But she seems to give up for now.

"So that is that really what you think of us, huh?" she says. "Mom, Dad, the insanely talented kids? And whatever Zeb is," she adds.

"Not sure," says Kanan. "Do I have to be Dad? I think of myself more as the cool uncle."

"your beard's not cool," says Sabine. "Sorry, I've been meaning to tell you. Cool uncle is _definitely_ off the table for you. Zeb can be the cool uncle."

Kanan wonders if it's worth it to be offended, but he has had a go at her hair today, so fair's fair.

Anyway. "Have you _tried_ shaving your face with a blindfold on?" he says. It's at least intended as humour, though he fears jokes about his blindness will need some time to be truly funny to anyone but himself. "Can I be the delinquent older brother with one foot in jail?"

"Depends," says Sabine. "Do you have a tattoo?"

He laughs. "I have four, actually. But don't you get ideas, kid."

"And is one of them Hera's name inside a heart?"

He puts on his best Sabacc face. "How did you _guess_?" he says. To be fair, his best Sabacc guess is still a very bad Sabacc face.

"Delinquent older brother it is," she says. "Who's Hera?"

"Big sister. Always looking out for you guys. Grumbles a lot but will always get you home at the end of the night."

"Does Hera have a tattoo? Cos she might be the money-laundering bar owner with a heart of gold."

"I'm not telling you that." She has, actually, but a lingering sense of propriety keeps Kanan from offering up that bit of information.

"And Ezra and I are -"

"The kids," says Kanan. "Seriously. Haven't you noticed? You guys are _awfully_ young."

"Well, we could take excellent care of ourselves before delinquent brother and big sister came along."

"Yes," says Kanan. "At fourteen. You do realise that if the galaxy we live in were anything approaching normal, you wouldn't _have_ to take care of yourself at your age. You would spend today with your own mom and dad picking out your first landglider, and it wouldn't have a laser battery because _it wouldn't be needed._ Instead, at fourteen, you flee from the Imperial Academy to become a bounty hunter, and you develop a pyromaniac streak that frankly scares me. At fourteen, Ezra was already fending for himself on the streets for seven years. Hera, of course, has been taking care of everyone since she was tall enough to see out of a windscreen."

At least Zeb got to grow up before the Empire came to Lasan, he thinks, but all in all, the Lasat is maybe not the best example for a galaxy running the way it's supposed to.

"And then there's fourteen year old you, and Order 66," says Sabine, and doesn't that takes all the fun out of the conversation.

"Sabine -"

"I know, I'm sorry," she says. "You're right, we're all -"

"Damaged?" He offers.

"A bit," concedes Sabine. "But mostly different, maybe stronger. And if this were any sort of normal galaxy, we all wouldn't even have met, did you think about that?"

He ponders this. Kanan has a feeling that he would always find Hera, in every version of reality. He can't imagine a life without her, it's as simple as that. And it will be a bad day for the Empire if they ever find that out.

"It's not worth all this," he says, despite himself.

"I know. But here it is, and here we are. And we're making the best of it, aren't we?"

That's a novel way of looking at it, he thinks, considering what Sabine had come down to talk to him about. "I think so," he says.

"Speaking of which," says Sabine. "You and Hera, taking in all the strays. Deep-rooted wish for kids of your own? One day?"

Kanan snorts, partly at the concept, and partly to cover his surprise at the sudden probe into his private life. "And what sorts of parents would we be?"

"Look at us, duh," says Sabine. "The best."

It should be obvious how incredibly ridiculous that idea is, he thinks. Even if they had the resources to throw at the genetic engineering required for making a Twi'lek and human compatible, they ought to throw them at their ramshackle fleet instead. And while he's thankful for Sabine's vote of confidence, neither he nor Hera know how to make a family work. Even now, they mostly just wing it.

Doesn't mean he hasn't dreamed of it. But he'll be damned if he lets on.

A tapping of the Force is his only warning. In a millisecond, he springs up and whirls around, activated lightsaber in his hand, blocking a heavy rock shooting in their direction. Debris rains on him and Sabine before she even has her blasters out.

"CHOPPER!"

Sabine shoots, hopefully just the ground in front of the droid. But then he hears Chopper's rattling, sounding suspiciously like maniacal laughter before the droid legs it - or wheels it - towards the base.

"We should head back, too, they'll miss us," he says.

He clips his deactivated lightsaber to his belt, then finds and accepts Sabine's outstretched hand.

"That little bucket of evil must have hidden behind a rock all this time," she says. "You just wait till I get to him."

"Yeah, well," says Kanan. "Life lesson right there. You're never truly safe." He makes a mental note to thank Chopper for the interruption, because family planning is not something he has ever envisioned discussing with Sabine.

Sabine leads him through the dark, towards the base, deep in thought.

"If you already knew," she says, "why all this? You're building up to Ezra, aren't you?"

"Because we needed to talk as well, Sabine," he says, again evading the implication that he's worried. He's really becoming a natural at this. "Usually, we only have time to shout at each other. Did you mine the hangar, where's the exit, man the nose gun. Not usually: Are you sure we're generally going in the right direction?"

They're at the entrance. Right down the hall is Sabine's quarter, left is Ezra's.

"Well, thanks for that," says Sabine. "It's good to get a bit of one-on-one time with Dad." She lets go of his hand.

"You know, sometimes it feels unfair that Ezra is getting all of your attention," she adds softly. "But maybe that's just a sibling thing."

With that, she vanishes, leaving him at the entrance.

Kanan sighs, and turns to the left, his hand feeling for the durasteel wall. He has a feeling Ezra won't like this, but truth to be told, neither does he.


End file.
